


the hurting

by bevcrushers (dothraloki)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, M/M, No Fluff, One Shot, Rivalry, Season/Series 06, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23172217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraloki/pseuds/bevcrushers
Summary: “Really, Doctor?” the Master scolds. “Must we go through this again? Not that I don’t deeply enjoy having you at a disadvantage, because really, I truly, truly do, but this routine does tend to wear a bit.”-the master travels back to pay eleven a visit
Relationships: The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	the hurting

The Master arrives with an explosion of purple light, and resounding thud as his boots hit the ground.

This TARDIS is different – bright, clashing, ridiculous. It’s what he expects from this one – this face, currently staring at him, hunched over his console. He’s different in person, the Master thinks. Yes - youthful, with that ridiculous sweep of hair, the nostalgic bow tie and braces; his eyes give away his years, though. They always do.

“I can’t thank you enough, Doctor,” the Master bares his teeth into a grin. His fingers find the smooth metal in his pocket, and he pulls out the device. It flashes once, a brilliant burst of brightness. “Bit of a rough ride, that one.”

The Doctor pulls himself inward, all tight lines and tense energy. He probably senses the danger. The Master beams, and inside him the fire roars.

“Have to say, I do like this look.” He reaches out to run a finger down the rough material of the Doctor's braces, and just as suddenly he’s dancing away, grin taunting. “It’s like boyband member meets history lecturer. Definitely one of my favourites – but don’t tell the other you,” a sudden laugh bursts from him, “Not that you can.”

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” the Doctor’s jaw tightens. The Master doesn’t miss the threat tucked inside the words. This one is dangerous, he thinks. The Doctor always was, but the sharp edge of herself, so blunted by that jumped-up sense of morality is unusually jagged with this one. The Master is elated by it.

“Really, Doctor?” the Master scolds. “Must we go through this again? Not that I don’t deeply enjoy having you at a disadvantage, because really, I truly, truly do, but this routine does tend to wear a bit.”

“No really," The Doctor draws himself to full height. "Who are you?”

A jolt of righteous anger courses through him, and he's propelled forward, right into the Doctor’s space. “Can’t see it in my eyes?” he hisses. “Don’t recognise your oldest friend? I know you, Doctor, every single time. I can spot that pomposity, smell that arrogance from the furthest side of the galaxy. You can at least do me the courtesy of _remembering me.”_

The cloister bell chimes loud just as recognition lights up inside flint, cold eyes. “That’s not possible.”

The Master shakes his head, the barest hint of a caress in his voice. “Always so small-minded, love. Dare to think bigger.”

“No, no,” The Doctor turns away. His tone is heavy with something the Master can’t quite identify. “I saw you – I watched you – _you can’t be here_.”

“And yet,” The Master flicks his fringe out of his face and spreads his arms, wide. “Listen to that – the TARDIS knows. I’m not lying to you.”

The Doctor stares at him, searching his face for answers - answers that won’t come. “How?”

“A long story,” says the Master. “One that _I’m not telling you.”_

He catches the twitch of the Doctor’s hand in his pocket, and pulls out his TCE. “Oh, don’t be so boringly predictable, _Doctor_ ,” his voice rises to a bark. “I would hate to have to kill you now before the fun’s even started.”

The Doctor’s hand falls from his pocket. He’s still got that look on his face though – it’s familiar, even in this incarnation. He’s trying to work it out, work _him_ out. Fury prickles just beneath the Master’s skin at the thought; he _hates_ it – hates the Doctor’s way of peering right through him. He doesn’t get to do that – not now, not here, after all this time.

“It took me a long time to find you, but I did, running around with your little _pets_ ,” he spits, pushing the fury back. “Where are those parasites?”

“Not here,” says the Doctor.

The Master stares at him. “You knew I was coming.”

“I knew _something_ was coming. How could I have known it was _you_?”

“Probably a good thing,” the Master sniffs, turning away now. There’s something in the Doctor’s face, in his eyes - something too earnest, like a plea. “Who knows what I would’ve been forced to do. I know how much you disapprove of the mess.”

“Don’t joke,” there’s that sliver of danger again. “You were never any good at it.”

“Who’s joking, Doctor?”

A beat of silence consumes them. The Doctor's eyes track his.

“What’s your plan?” he asks, instead. “You tricked me into letting you on the TARDIS, for what?”

“Would you believe simple curiosity?” It’s not a total lie - The Master hadn’t yet seen the Doctor’s eleventh face, not in person anyway. There’s something deceptively soft about him, something pure, at odds with the steeliness that he knows is lurking beneath the surface. The juxtaposition of it fascinates him - but that’s part of it, only part of it.

The Doctor stalks forward. “I'm afraid you’ll have to do better than that, Master.”

“Oh,” electricity slips down his spine. “Say it again.”

The Doctor’s expression hardens. “Master.”

A shudder runs through him and he grins, shark-like. “You’ll find out, soon enough.”

“Games,” there’s venom in the Doctor’s voice now. “You’ll find I don’t _do_ games this time.”

“A shame,” the Master sneers. “I love games.”

The Doctor’s mouth curls into a thin smile, humourless, cold. “What was that tech you flashed at me?”

“ _Ding – ding – ding_ , that’s it! The question I was waiting for!” The Master bursts out, giddy. He pulls the device from his pocket. “Psionic reader. I’ve rigged it to remove every trace of me from your memory once I'm gone.” Well, not quite all of him – he wanted something left, the whisper of a mystery in the Doctor’s mind, the echo of familiarity. It’d scratch at her every time she looked at O, every time she thought of him, and she’d never know why. “You’re not the only one who loves a good mind-wipe.”

The Doctor does his best to hide his confusion, and the Master knows he won’t ask.

“Not our time,” he answers anyway. “Don't want you reading ahead. I have to confess, though, the thought of just killing you now and being done with it is appealing. I’ve caught you off guard, Doctor - but then where’s the challenge?”

“The challenge?” The Doctor snorts, moving in closer. “Let me let you in on a little secret. It doesn’t matter if you try it now, or later – it still won’t work. There are some truths that remain universal: that no matter who I am, no matter what face I’m wearing, no matter when we are, I _will_ defeat you. Always have and always will,” his tone twists, contemptuous, “send you…scuttling off to whatever _crevice_ you’re hiding in, Koschei.”

The Master stiffens. And then carefully, slowly, irons out his ire into a smirk. “Silence will fall, Doctor.”

A shadow crosses the Doctor’s face, the arrogance finally, finally cracking.

“You’ve got dark days coming,” he leans in now, closing the space between them to whisper in his ear. “And I, for one, can’t wait to see you _wallow_ in it, Theta.”

The sound of an alarm tears his attention away - the indication that the download is complete. He glances down at his vortex manipulator. The Doctor notices a fraction of a second too late, and the Master laughs, mocking. “ _Kisses_.”

With that he’s gone, the still image of the Doctor’s bewilderment imprinted in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> i reckon the master's plan was to steal info from the doctor's TARDIS to help find the timeless child's origin. why did he travel back to see 11? for the drama of it all


End file.
